Days in Hell
by A Guy Named Goo
Summary: Postanime. While trying to run a severely crippled Hellsing Organisation, Integra is manipulated into seeing horrific visions when exposed to light. Can Alucard and Seras find a way to stop it? IxS, Violence, Sadism, Torture
1. Prologue: Photophobia

Disclaimer- Don't own Hellsing. Don't sue, please.

Special Thanks to ShdwAnna for the beta'ing, providing me with some information, and letting me bounce ideas off of her, and to Thess for the offer to beta and for letting me spam her while bouncing ideas and other spongey objects off her.

**Days in Hell**

**By A Guy Named Goo**

**Beta'd by ShdwAnna**

**Prologue: Photophobia**

"_You'd better hope and pray that you make it safe back to your own world_

_You'd better hope and pray that you wake one day back in your own world_

'_Cause when you sleep at night they don't hear your cries in your own world_

_Only time will tell if you can break the spell back in your own world..."_

"Stay" by Shakespeare's Sister

* * *

"Walter! _Walter!_" Integra's voice was loud enough to be heard out in the hall. This was unnecessary, considering the man in question was right in her bedroom with her, but her voice sounded panicked and urgent. 

Walter stood from the chair he had placed next to her bed on unsteady legs, picking up the damp washcloth that had slipped off her forehead and onto the bed when she had begun to jerk in her panicked state. Her pressed it to her forehead again, trying to get her to relax. "I'm right here, Sir Integra," he assured her calmly.

Integra swallowed before drawing in deep, gasping breaths. Her eyes were sweeping her bedroom like it was alien to her, sweat dripping down her flushed face. "Walter, close the drapes! It's too bright in here!" she ordered, the desperation evident in her voice.

Walter looked in the direction of the French doors that lead out onto the balcony. The heavy hunter green drapes were already drawn closed, with the edges tucked in or taped in place to keep the sunlight from leaking in. The first thing Integra had said after entering her delirium was that the sun was too bright and ordered him to close them, and she had been repeating this order desperately for three days now. There was really no way for him to close them any further for her.

"They _are_ closed, Sir Integra," Walter explained gently.

Integra was panting heavily now, her breathing growing more ragged. Her hands balled into fists around her blanket, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, turning her head to the side as if trying to keep from facing something. The washcloth started to slide off again, but Walter's scarred hand caught it and held it in place.

"It's too bright," she moaned pitifully. "Too much sunlight...close the drapes..." Her pleas tapered off, and her body seemed to relax as she lost consciousness again.

The doctor had already been in to see Integra that day. Although her fever was alarmingly high, all that the doctor could do was give her some medicine and tell Walter to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed hydrated until the fever broke. The doctor had also reprimanded the delirious woman for not taking care of herself before her flu became so dangerous, but she hadn't understood him, which had probably been why he chose then to berate her in a way that few people dared to.

The remaining members of the Hellsing Organisation knew that recouping their losses would be most difficult after the Tower incident, especially since the public now thought they were nothing but a terrorist training ground. Hellsing was allowed to exist, but only as a sort of vigilante group without any government approval. The only "official" support they had was that while the police wouldn't call for their aid, even in the cases that Hellsing specialized in, if they saw the organisation's insignia on someone's uniform they weren't to attempt an arrest or impede in their actions. More "compromises" that were made (as if Integra had been able to plead her case instead of being incarcerated) were that while the British government wouldn't seize Hellsing's assets or property, they would only allow them these concessions if Integra promised not to use either of the vampires in her employ any longer. All of this was the government's way of saying that they knew Integra wasn't the traitor, and yet they couldn't let the public think she got away with the events leading to her very public fall from grace.

The days following Integra's release from prison were dark indeed: Walter had returned in such horrible shape that the Hellsing leader had found herself actually urging him to retire, and feeling guilty when she found herself relieved that he refused. Alucard had become increasingly irritable since being informed he wasn't allowed to go on missions anymore, which resulted in heated arguments between the vampire and his master so frequently Integra had finally told him to go out if he wanted, but if she found out he killed anything near anyone wearing a Hellsing insignia in a way that made it readily apparent he was Hellsing's "pet vampire" she would seal him once more where she'd found him. Adding financial trouble resulting from the government cutting off funding, the need to find new men who were willing to join the organisation for relatively little pay (and considering they were a "vigilante terrorist organisation", most British candidates thought joining would make them traitors), and a rumor that had begun to spread around London and beyond that Integra was a vicious, violent woman that people had to tread lightly around, and it was really no wonder that she ignored a comparatively small thing like the flu.

The shadows in the corner formed into a silhouette. The shadowy figure began to gain color until the red-clad figure of Alucard appeared. Walter didn't seem alarmed by this turn of events in the least. After all, he probably had been there quite a while.

"She's still on the sunlight thing," Alucard observed plainly, looking down at his ailing master.

Walter nodded, seating himself next to the bed again. "I wonder what's going on in her mind to make her fear the light so much..."

Alucard approached the other side of the bed. "Nothing is," he told Walter. "She hasn't shielded her thoughts against me since she's been like this. Quite the opposite, in fact: she's projecting. Her thoughts are the same exact things she has been saying out loud. I can't even tell what she is seeing, if anything. All I know is it is very difficult to sleep when you have to listen to _that_ all day."

"I am sure Sir Integra will feel remorse over you losing your rest when she recovers."

Alucard chose to ignore the sarcasm. "You sound confident that she will recover."

Walter shrugged. "It's the flu. She should be find as soon as her fever breaks, which the doctor assure me should be very soon."

Alucard snorted, backing away from the bed. "Modern medicine has made humans far too optimistic."

Walter smiled at that statement, ignoring the spasm in his right leg. It had been a miracle of the same modern medicine that the vampire condemned that had saved his leg, and a greater miracle that it was still usable at all. "Nostalgic for the old days when a fever was possibly fatal?"

"At least people were more careful with their health in those days. They couldn't afford the risks that came with working oneself to death." Alucard wasn't facing either Integra or Walter now, as if he were talking to himself. "No wonder there is no sport left to be found in this world. With all this technology holding their hands, people have become foolhardy. Even the undead."

Walter opened his mouth to comment, but was cut off short by a blood-curdling scream. Alucard whirled around to face his master, and Walter stood up and leaned over her. Integra's scream seemed to go on forever, full of rage and terror, unlike anything either man had ever heard from the woman. Even Alucard seemed to be disturbed by this chilling turn of events.

Suddenly Integra was quiet again, sweat covering her face and soaking the sheets around her. Her entire body seemed to relax, and although she was panting at first, her breathing returned to normal. Walter sat back down, and Alucard approached the bed slowly.

"Master?" he asked, looking down at her sweat-soaked body.

Integra's eyes opened after a few seconds. She squinted at Alucard, then gave up trying to see without her glasses. When she spoke, her voice was still raw, although the annoyance was still apparent. "Alucard, what are you doing in here?"

**End of Prologue**


	2. Chapter One: The Harsh Light of Day

**Days in Hell**

**By A Guy Named Goo**

**Beta'd by ShdwAnna**

**Chapter One: The Harsh Light of Day**

"_Walking in the footsteps_

_Of society's lies_

_I don't like what I see no more_

_Sometimes I wish I was blind_

_Sometimes I wait forever_

_To stand out in the rain_

_So no one sees my cryin'_

_Trying to wash away the pain..."_

"Keep the Faith" by Bon Jovi

* * *

"Sir Integra, I don't think anyone will fault you if you spend another day resting," Walter said as gently as possible. "You only...regained your senses yesterday. You're not quite well yet." 

Integra finished tying her cravat, reaching for her cross to pin it in place. "I have been unable to work for four days, Walter. I am already going to have a hell of a time catching up without adding another day's worth of work." She reached for her suit jacket, but stopped half-way and moved her gloved hand to her face as she sneezed. Walter handed her a tissue, which she accepted gratefully, wiping her nose and sniffling.

"Do you really think you can concentrate in this condition?" Walter asked her, taking the tissue and bringing it over to the rubbish bin.

"I can't afford not to," was the curt response. Integra finished dressing, putting a handkerchief into one of her pockets. She took off her glasses for a moment to blot her watering eyes with another tissue, discarding it herself as she made to leave her bedroom. "I can't believe I am actually sick on top of everything else. Be careful that you don't get sick as well."

Considering he had been with her the entire time she had been sick it was a warning delivered too late, but Walter didn't tell her so as she stepped out into the hall and headed toward her office. She had enough stress without worrying about the health of the aging retainer.

As Integra stepped out into the hall, Walter looked around her bedroom. It was still dark, and Integra had neither asked him why the drapes were closed so tightly or to open them again.

* * *

After the darkness of her bedroom and the hallways, Integra found herself having to adjust to the light once again. Her office seemed almost blindingly bright as she flicked on the lights while stepping in, causing her to squint. After a few seconds to allow her eyes to adjust, she strode to her desk and seated herself in the fashion she had so many times before, coughing into her handkerchief. 

Eying the intimidating size of the stack of papers and envelopes in her inbox, Integra set her handkerchief down long enough to open her drawer and take out a fresh package of cigars, placing them next to her ashtray and opening the package to get one. She knew that she shouldn't be smoking while she was sick, but it had been four days since she had last indulged in her chosen vice.

She placed the cigar in her mouth, preparing to light it when she noticed something from the corner of her eye. She lowered her lighter, turning her head to face the bookshelves.

"Who's there?" she demanded, taking her cigar from her mouth and putting it back on her desk. There was no answer; no other movement in that area of her office. She stood up, walking over to the area in question, reaching into her jacket to put her hand on her gun. "Alucard, is that you?"

Again, there was nothing. Integra sighed in exasperation. Her flu was probably playing tricks on her mind, although she would never admit that to anyone. The last thing she needed was to be badgered back into bed. Cursing her poor health, she made her way back to the desk, this time successfully lighting her cigar.

The first thing on the top of her inbox was an unremarkable white envelope. Picking it up and examining it, at first Integra couldn't tell who it could be from. Finally the American postmark registered in her mind, and she picked up her letter opener and slit the top of the envelope, keeping the small blade in her hand as she withdrew the contents and examined them. It was from an American bounty hunting camp that she had implored in an effort to find more men for the organisation. While not an outright refusal, they did inform her that the price she quoted was not to their liking and that no one would come to England for anything less than what they were asking for in their letter. It was a price that she could never meet in her current financial state.

At first Integra began to crumple the letter up angrily, but then she thought better of it. With a resigned sigh, she smoothed the paper on her desk and then filed it away in her drawer. If she got desperate enough it was the only response she had received that wasn't an outright refusal. She could hire a few men at that price, and a few was better than none. And perhaps she could find a way to improve her financial status soon.

Reaching toward her inbox again, Integra stopped short, glaring at her hand. Several small lumps seemed to be scurrying beneath her glove. Dropping the letter opener, she yanked off her glove and stared at her hand in horror. Several vicious looking scarlet beetles were crawling over her bare flesh, raising their horrible pinchers into the air. She watched in horror as the insects lowered their heads, forcing their pinchers into her skin, digging themselves into her hand. Small lumps began to skitter beneath the flesh, and her hand began to tremble.

Picking up the letter opener in her left hand, she aimed at one of the lumps, stabbing the flesh over it. She grunted in pain and withdrew the small knife, examining the bloody end. No insect remains. She repeated the motion on another lump, trying to keep her hand holding the letter opener as steady as possible. She bit down on the cigar in her mouth to keep from crying out as she felt the blade bite through her skin again, mouth filling with the taste of spilling tobacco. She withdrew the blade and examined the mess on her hand.

Bleeding all over the surface of the desk, she lay her hand palm-down on the desktop and wielded the letter opener again, stabbing three more times in rapid succession and allowing herself to cry out in pain and frustration, and yet the insects still eluded her, mocking her as they ran under the bleeding, mutilated flesh.

Examining the mess for a moment, Integra held up her hand so the palm side was facing her. More insects were enjoying themselves in that part of her hand. Steeling herself, she brought the blade over to her palm, making a diagonal cut from her pinky finger to her wrist. She dropped the letter opener, using her left hand to pry the incision apart, blood soaking through her glove.

The door to the office opened slowly. "Sir Integra-" Walter started, before he caught sight of Integra's hands. She looked up from the mess that was her right hand, cigar tumbling from her mouth and leaving a small burn on her cravat as it tumbled to the floor. Then she passed out, sprawling over her desk.

* * *

"She seems to honestly believe she was being attacked," the doctor explained. "She claims she was trying to kill insects that had burrowed into her hand. The good news is the damage was mostly superficial. She didn't cause any permanent nerve damage, so we can send her home without surgery." 

Walter nodded, knowing Integra would be glad to leave the hospital as soon as possible. One of the first things cut from the Hellsing budget was their on-site medical team and equipment, which meant that injured soldiers had to be taken to a public hospital. New protocol stated that all Hellsing soldiers who went to the hospital had to be escorted (and watched at all times) by another soldier to avoid possible incidents involving ghouls. It wasn't a welcome or popular decision, but the few men who were still loyal to the Organisation were willing to bear it.

Soon after Walter had called the ambulance, Integra had regained consciousness. Walter had assured her that she would be a taken to an upscale private hospital, but the knight had refused, stating that she didn't want medical care that was any better than she could provide for her soldiers. Although outwardly this seemed like the selfless gesture of a strong leader, Walter already knew she had other reasons for this: first, to reassure herself that cutting the medical budget was not a horrible thing to do, and second, to keep the details of her condition out of the society pages just a little while longer.

"Is it possible that the threat wasn't imagined?" Walter asked. He knew from experience that Integra wouldn't hurt herself unless she felt she had no other choice.

The doctor shook his head. "She claimed red insects dug their way into her hand and she was trying to kill them. I examined her thoroughly, and there is no sign of supposed insects crawling in her hands or anywhere else, for that matter. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say she's still having some hallucinations from the fever, aggravated by stress. She still has a low-grade fever. Seeing something 'getting under her skin'? I'm not a psychiatrist, but I don't think I need to be one to understand the symbolism there."

Well, at least the doctor wasn't flat-out accusing her of losing her mind. Walter sighed, looking into the hospital room where Integra was sedated, her right hand stitched and bandaged. He had opposed to dismissing the Organisation's private physicians because of situations like this one: a public hospital doctor would naturally try to justify anything unusual he saw within the parameters of his medical training. However, Hellsing's medical team had been trained to expect the unexpected and always take any claim, no matter how outlandish, seriously.

And aside from the specialization, Walter still felt there were certain aspects of the Organisation that should be kept within Hellsing. Even if their work and existence was public knowledge now, that didn't mean that all of London had to know when one of their men was wounded. He honestly believed if Integra had just pushed forth with the resources she had then eventually the situation would come to its own resolution, but the need for immediate relief had pressed too heavily on the embittered young leader. He somewhat suspected that she made a few of the cuts out of resentment for her situation rather than out of any sense of practicality.

"As soon as the sedatives wear off she can be discharged," the doctor told Walter. "Make sure she gets plenty of rest, and consider keeping potentially dangerous objects away from her for a while. Just as a precaution." The doctor walked away then, leaving Walter to digest the instructions. Neither one would be to Integra's liking ...

* * *

"That doctor doesn't know what he's talking about," Integra muttered. She was in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, her private driver taking them home. She'd fired her driver early in the budget crisis, but being unable to drive herself in her present condition and not wanting to force Walter to be a chauffer on top of everything else he did, she'd had no choice but to rehire him. "I am going to rehire at least one of our personal physicians, budget be damned." 

Walter nodded. "That would probably be for the best. But with all due respect, Sir Integra, the doctor may have a point: you are pushing yourself very hard these days, and you _are_ technically still sick..."

Integra continued to stare out the window at the streets of London, not daring to meet the old family retainer's gaze. "If someone is trying to attack me I don't want to be in bed ignoring it. Whoever they are, they are probably hoping for just that."

Walter sighed. "Regardless, perhaps you would benefit from slowing down a little. Just until you are completely recovered."

Integra opened her mouth, ready to object, when something caught her eye outside the car window. She grasped the front seat suddenly, leaning forward. "Stop! Stop the car!" Her voice was urgent and insistent, and the driver stepped on the brake without hesitation. The car behind them didn't have time to register the stop, and the sound of metal colliding with metal drew the collective attention of everyone on the street, and was punctuated by the blaring of car horns.

"Sir Integra? Are you all right?" Walter asked, tossing a worried glance at the woman in question.

Integra had opened the car door and was preparing to step outside. Walter put a gloved hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, eyes facing a display in the window of one of the shops. Inside, three men were standing side by side, the one in the middle holding a small child in front of him, one arm crossing under her chin with his hands poised to snap her fragile neck. The other two men were each gripping one of the girl's arms.

"Sir Integra, what is it?" Walter asked her again. She was standing outside of the car now, rage evident on her face.

"We have to do something," she insisted, ignoring Walter's question again. "Why isn't anyone stopping to do anything?" She reached into her suit jacket for her gun, but realize with horror that it wasn't there. "I need a gun, Walter. I need a weapon of some sort."

"I don't...see anything," Walter confessed, staring at the window that seemed to have thoroughly captured her attention.

"They're right there! They're going to-" Integra didn't get to finish her description of the scene as the center man snapped the girl's neck. But he didn't stop there: he twisted the girl's head right off her shoulders. At the same time the men on either side of her pulled her arms off, causing her body to fall forward, blood streaking the window as it slid down the glass. She cried out in outrage.

"Sir Integra, I don't see anything!" Walter insisted, his worry defeating his good manners.

Integra looked back in the car. Several people had started to climb out of their cars to see what had stopped the flow of traffic, but she ignored them. "In that store! Are you blind!" She turned back to face the shop window, but the gruesome scene was gone, replaced by three mannequins, a sign advertising a sale leaning against the one in the center. Her eyes widened in horror, and she fell back into the car heavily.

"Sir Integra?" Walter asked, reaching out to touch her. "Are you all right?"

"They were there..." Integra said softly. She was staring intently at her bandaged hand. "I saw them...they..."

A police officer approached the car, peering into Integra's still-open door. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked. Suddenly, recognition crossed his face. "Miss Hellsing! W-what seems to be the problem?"

Walter unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door, stepping out of the car and slowly making his way around the front of it to Integra's side. He looked in to make sure she was entirely in the car. "Our apologies, officer. She thought she saw something."

Integra winced as Walter slammed her door closed.

* * *

Walter closed the door to Integra's darkened room, leaning against it and sighing heavily. The incident had been a significant blow to the woman's pride, a blow so heavy that upon arriving at home Integra had just taken the sedative the doctor had given her and gone to bed. Walter also knew that she was probably grappling with the unsettling issue of her apparent loss of sanity, something that was also troubling him, although he would never say that out loud to anyone. 

"So are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to drag it out of her later?" Alucard asked, suddenly materializing in the shadows of the hallway.

"I don't believe I am in a position to tell you," Walter responded simply. He didn't want to upset the Hellsing leader by notifying her vampire subordinate of her deteriorating mental condition, after all.

Alucard smirked. "Not even if I may be able to help matters?"

Walter shook his head. "Lately you have been more of a hindrance to her than a help. This is a private matter and will remain as such until Sir Integra states otherwise."

Walter could feel the vampire analyzing his response, trying to find the subtext of his words. Perhaps he was even trying to find the truth in the old butler's mind. Finally, be broke into a wide grin. "All right, Angel of Death. I will just have to get the truth from her later." With that, he disappeared into the shadows once more.

Walter sighed, looking at the closed bedroom door. He had no doubt that he would do as he had threatened, and add to her stress in the process. And Walter had no way of telling whether that would be the stressor that would finally destroy her...

**End of Chapter One**


End file.
